Should I bring a résumé of my dreams to the publishing company on West 38th?
An abstraction of when my teeth crumble like pastels, or summaries of my vocal cords seeking air through a taut fabric. I’ve achieved piercing silence in a room of white noise.
I have an impressive inventory of witnessing infidelity. once, we were both in between romantic partners. I was awakened by the taste of copper from biting the inside of my cheek. It looked worthy of an aged Merlot.
My most admirable skill is prediction. I can sense a mass shooting or the expiring heart of a loved one. but I usually float like an island over the scene because my biggest weakness is lacking density.
i first felt confused. everything seemed to slip between my fingers were they even my fingers? now i was completely terrified. this sense that everything was foreign like i've never seen these surrounding in my entire lifetime. i didn't couldn't feel myself. my it those fingers. i saw them move as fingers do, but they didn't seem like my hands, my fingers, my flushed palms. it felt surreal. even the people i knew seemed unknown to my eyes. it gave me this churn in my stomach. a churn that screamed "danger". but why? don't i know these people? i should know how they act how they talk how they walk how they move. but when i saw them talk when i studied how their lips formed around words i heard nothing. there was no familiarity in their voice and the words they spoke from their mind to their tongues. it sounded like static. like white noise. the nothingness that's heard in a room of complete silence. i felt like white noise. that fuzziness; the pins and needles kind when you haven't moved in hours. i could've brushed it off. maybe tried to refocus my brain into thinking that "yes. all of this is familiar. don't be so dumb." but i couldn't. all i felt was bile in my throat as i internalized my imminent panic. it was settling there in the pit of my stomach all because i couldn't recognize my own voice. i couldn't recognize their faces. i couldn't recognize where i was nor could i recognize why i was there in the first place. what was my purpose? why do i wake up, go to school, come home, sleep. why do i do these things that give me little to no substance in my life? this regular schedule of constance. that's what caused this white noise. the white noise that pressed anxiety and stress into my chest making it heavier making it harder to breath making it worse. i hated it. but i couldn't do anything about it. this white noise. oh, how much i despised the thing. but all i can do is revel in the moment until it passes.
The physical alienation tilts the entire spectrum of internal parallel universes Which generate limitless scenarios of "perhaps"-es and bittersweet "what if"-s Up to the point where the outside dissolves into the inevitable acceptance ItAllMeltsWithinThisWhiteNoise
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DH0BQtwEAsM Getaways from Soul Constipation